


The Man in the Mirror

by Pure_Obsession



Series: Man in the mirror [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Rating May Change, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pure_Obsession/pseuds/Pure_Obsession
Summary: In the 40s, Steve joined the military as a nurse. He's a man, but no one else sees him as one. Except one scientist, who offers him the chance to become a man, a real one, or as close as he could be. To become Steve Rogers, and leave Jane Rogers behind. For 70 years, no one knows that Steve Rogers, the first Avenger, was born a woman. When he wakes up in the 21st century, and finds times have changed, he decides to fully embrace himself.Things just get more complicated when his lover comes back from the dead to find out that the beefy strong man who saved him from a Hydra camp is in fact, his best friend, and crush, the woman he grew up alongside.Things smooth themselves out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Man in the mirror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894705
Comments: 46
Kudos: 118





	1. Underground

**Author's Note:**

> I love Trans!Steve more than anything. I'm trying to navigate how this fic will work with the 40s and transphobia and everything. I'll get it figured out, it's fiction. This first chapter shows the first time Steve put a voice to what he was, *who* he was. 
> 
> Also if you see one of these * in the text next to a word, it means that there's some sort of note in the end notes about that word or scene.

In the 40s, it was something people found disgusting. 

Sure, they tolerated people like Steve more than they tolerated the women Steve saw in the underground bars. The pretty ladies who were a bit too muscular, whose voices were a bit too deep, but who Steve knew were women regardless. Society, however, treated them like criminals, like disgusting things rather than people. 

It was here, deep in the basement of some old building under Brooklyn, that he found himself. 

He'd always been different, a bit more masculine, finding the things other girls his age liked to be trivial and uninteresting. That wasn't that weird though. His ma used to tell him he was a tomboy, that he could go toe to toe with any of the boys in the neighborhood, and to never let society's expectations hold him down. 

When she died, Steve was nine years old. Bucky's family took him in almost immediately, but his pa was always working at the docks, and his ma's health was almost as bad as Steve's own had been. So, when Steve cut his long blonde hair into a short cut, much shorter than even the short styles that had come into style for women, Bucky's family barely noticed, didn't bat an eye. Bucky's younger sisters were more than happy to take his old girly clothes, and no one said anything when Steve quietly took the clothes Bucky had grown out of. 

It was when he hit puberty that it got really bad. His chest began to develop, his hips got curvier. 

He hated it. He despised his body. He didn't know why. It just felt itchy and wrong and horrible. He'd heard about it of course, dames dressing up as fellas, but it scared him. 

Bucky's ma passed when they were 15, and his pa went out from a ship accident not even a year later. At the time, they lived on the outskirts of the city, in a house that none of them could pay for. Bucky's aunt took in the girls, but told Steve and Bucky that they were old enough to make it on their own, get a job. She suggested Steve go find himself a nice man. 

"Jane, honey, pretty little thing like you could get any man she wants. Maybe if you actually dressed like the lady you are, you could be set for life." Steve had cringed. His name, it was like a grating sound on his ears. He hated it. It felt wrong. Bucky, who knew, maybe not fully, but at least to an extent, how that ruffled Steve, had quickly excused them.

And this was where he found it. 

He had gotten sick again. He and Bucky had been scraping to put rent together. Steve's drawings weren't selling as well as they used to, even the more risque sketches he sold to adult magazines weren't bringing in very much. 

He had a good Catholic upbringing, he believed in god. But part of him, at that moment, hoped that there was no heaven. Because if there was, his ma was watching him, and he knew it would break her heart to see her sweet child walking the dark streets of Brooklyn in high heels and a dress he'd borrowed from a friend, looking for a bar to try and pick up a man who would pay for a night. 

He hated it. He hated the clothes, the makeup. It felt disgusting and wrong and he despised it. But they couldn't be on the streets. If Bucky knew what he was doing he'd kill him. But he had no choice. 

He'd heard of a place through whisper. Often described as a 'den of sin.' a place where anything went. Perfect place to sell his body. 

When he arrived at the old building, he went inside and carefully picked his way down the stairs to the basement, where he found a door. Soft music played behind it, and he rapped three times in rapid succession, biting his lips and shifting nervously from one foot to the other. It opened slightly, revealing the face of a big man. He looked Steve up and down for a minute, a strange look on his face. 

"Password, honey." He requested.

"Gravedigger." Steve whispered, feeling his breath catch. The man stepped aside to let him in, and he carefully stepped through.

Behind the door, he found absolute decadence. People dancing, drinking, it was like he had stepped into another dimension. He took a deep breath to quiet his nerves before making his way to the bar. Behind it stood a woman, back turned and long blonde hair cascading down her back. It reminded Steve of his own hair, which he had begun to let grow into a nice little bob. He hated it, but he knew he had to stop following his instincts and do what was expected of him. 

"Excuse me?" The woman turned to him, and his eyes widened. Her face was a bit too square, and her chest was flat. But she was still gorgeous. 

"What can I get for you honey?" Her voice was pitched up a bit, an obvious attempt to mask her low masculine timber. 

"Uh. Just a water please." He said, conscious of his own feminine voice. The bartender gave him a look, before pouring him a glass. 

"Whatcha looking for tonight honey?" She asked as Steve took a sip of the water. 

"Uh…" He said, looking down at himself in shame. She nodded in understanding. 

"Well sweetheart, you came to the wrong place. Most the men in this joint prefer fellas, but a few of the gals might wanna take you for a spin, if you're into that." Steve swallowed, not looking up. Ah. So it was one of  _ those  _ places. To be honest, Steve liked girls. He found them pretty, gorgeous, had often imagined them beneath him. But he knew it was wrong. Ladies don't go after ladies, that just ain't right. 

And if he had dreams where he had a penis, where he fucked pretty women while they called him handsome and screamed out his name,  _ his  _ name, not the one on his birth certificate, well, that was his little secret. 

"You don't look comfy in that dress sweetheart." Steve looked back up. "What's your name darlin?" 

"Uh. Jane." He said, struggling not to recoil at the sound on his tongue. 

"Stella." She said. Her eyes fell on someone behind Steve, and he turned to look. 

There, walking towards the bar, was a man. A man with a soft chin, with wide hips. He was obviously a man, but something inside Steve wondered. 

"Hello Stella." There it was, a high pitch, much like Steve's own. 

He was staring, he knew he was, but he couldn't help it. God, he was gorgeous, handsome, manly. A man, a real man. 

Could Steve be like that someday? 

"Oh. I see." Steve startled out of his thoughts and looked to Stella questioningly. 

"You're not a woman are you Jane?" She asked shooting a knowing look to their new companion. Steve hesitated. 

"I...I mean I am-" 

"But you don't want to be. Society says you're one thing, but your heart says another." 

How? How did this woman know him so well so quickly? He nodded mutely, face flushing brightly. 

"What's your name honey. Your real one, if you've got one picked." Steve took a sharp breath. 

"I...I've always wanted to go by Steve?" He says quietly. The first time he's said it aloud to anyone besides himself in the darkness when Bucky was fast asleep. 

"Well Steve, what's a nice guy like you doin dressing up like a gal and trying to sell your body?" Wow. This one was right to the point. 

"I uh. My roommate and I need the money." Stella looked at him for a second. 

"Come with me sweetheart, let's get you comfy." She stood up straight and headed for a door, not waiting to see if Steve would follow. "Max, you too, we're gonna need your help." The man that had joined them, Max, looked at Steve. 

"Come on boy, Stella doesn't take no for an answer with this stuff." He extended a hand, and Steve took it gingerly, letting himself be led. He tried to contain his smile at the word  _ boy _ . 

When they stepped through the door, Stella closed it and clicked the light on, revealing racks and racks of clothes, a makeup table, and a curtain hung in the corner to serve as a dressing room. 

"Alright Steve, first off, let's get those damn shoes off of you." Stella said, motioning to a chair by the wall. Steve, his heart pounding hard, sat, allowing her to remove the heels. She set them in the corner before grabbing a pair of men's shoes. "This size should work. You're a tiny thing but we've got tons of sizes." 

Steve swallowed. They were nice shoes, the kind businessmen wore on a daily basis and the kind Bucky's pa used to wear to church and nowhere else. Expensive. Stella saw his hesitation.

"Everything here is unclaimed, honey. These don't belong to nobody. Yet." She placed them at his feet, letting him eye them for a moment before slipping his stockinged foot into it one of them. 

They fit perfectly, like they were made for him. Like they'd been waiting in this dark room for him to come around. 

Stella saw the look on his face. "Now, we gotta take em off for a minute." She said, slowly easing the shoes from his feet. He felt his heart ache. Such a tiny thing, but having it taken away made him feel naked. She looked back at Max who handed her a pair of those wide leg suspender slacks and a white shirt. She also produced a roll of bandages*. "Alright. I'll have Max help you out with this part, he knows better than I do." She said, handing him the pile. 

A half hour and a lot of fussing later, Steve emerged from the curtain, dressed in the clothes and shoes, makeup removed, and chest less pronounced than before. 

"Alright hon, one last bit and I'll let you see yourself, okay?" Stella said. Sitting him back down and retrieving a pair of scissors. 

Stella moved with practiced precision, snipping and pulling and styling, while Steve kept his eyes closed, overwhelmed and wondering what he looked like. 

Did he look like a woman still? What if, in spite of everything, the clothes, the hair, the shoes, the bandages, he was still Jane Rogers? Would he ever look like himself? His real self? Or would that be forever trapped inside his head, never translating to the outside? 

"Alright honey. We're done. Wanna see?" Steve was pulled from his spiral by Stella's voice, opening his voice to find her smiling face. She looked like a woman. Despite her deep voice and the tiny hint of stubble, Steve didn't see a man when he looked at her. Maybe the same would happen for him. He looked at Max, and saw a man, maybe a bit soft around the edges but a man nonetheless. Maybe. Maybe. He nodded shakily, not able to find his voice. Stella held out a hand, a soft smile on her face as she pulled him to his feet. 

"Close your eyes, Steve." Stella said and he did, letting her guide him to stand in front of the full length mirror. His chest heaved, constricted by the bandages. 

"Open." 

And he did, and almost immediately burst into tears. 

There, staring right back at him, was a man. A bit short, a bit soft, but a man. With short blonde hair, a flat chest. A man. It was like looking at a stranger and seeing his true self all at once. 

"Handsomest fella I ever seen." Stella said. 

And Steve? He agreed. 

The person staring back at him was the most amazing person in the world. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bandages- Do not EVER bind with bandages. Ever! Never! It's bad! It can damage your ribs and your lungs so bad don't ever do it. I've included this particular bit because in the 40s, binders didn't exist. There *was* no safe way to bind. As a trans man, I feel obligated to include this note because I know media portrays young trans men wrapping themselves in ace bandages and it makes me sick. This bit is period-typical, but I do NOT advocate binding with ace bandages or wraps.
> 
> If you're a person interested in binding, please don't use bandages. GC2B and Underworks are good binder companies, don't use Amazon binders. They may be cheaper, but they're not good quality and often aren't sized correctly. There's no *truly* safe way to bind but there are ways to minimize your risks of lung and rib damage. Incorrect binding can even lead to ineligibility for top surgery in the future (if that's something you want)
> 
> Okay now that I've done my PSA, let me know if there's any desire for more of this fic, and maybe even some theories on how I'm gonna work this.


	2. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets drafted, and Steve feels his world falling apart. In a desperate move, he signs on as a military nurse, only to find a familiar face at the clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case y'all didn't figure it out first, I will *never* refer to Steve with she/her pronouns. He's a man, despite being trans, and will be referred to that way. While other characters may use she/her or Jane to refer to Steve, I won't. I don't like stories where trans men are referred to as 'she' up until they figure out they're trans. He's a man, plain and simple. 
> 
> Also, as a note, Steve is bisexual. He likes women, but also men. He tends to dream about women because it makes him feel more solid in his identity, being attracted to men makes him feel insecure about his masculinity, as if he's just pretending. Our boy has massive imposter syndrome.

The war came cold and daunting, a shadow over every young man in Brooklyn, New York, and the country as a whole. 

The draft. 

One night, when Steve returned from the underground bar that had become his home, he found Bucky on the couch, head in his hands. Usually Bucky was asleep by now, allowing Steve to slip his men's clothes safely away and be Jane again before morning. But tonight, his best friend was not asleep. 

Bucky looked up at the sound of the door, making eye contact with Steve. But he seems to see right past the clothes, the flatness of Steve's chest. 

"What happened?" Steve asked quietly, not moving away from the door. Bucky looked at his hands, his eyes tired. 

"I got drafted." 

Steve's heart sunk to his feet with a deafening boom. He didn't know what to say. The images of the war, the things they heard on the radio proclaiming the hideous reality in Europe ran through his head. He found his voice, somehow

"No." His voice cracked, a lump rising in his throat. "N-no, you can't go over there! You'll die!" His voice was shrill, more high pitched than he ever allowed it to be these days, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. 

"I don't have a choice, Jane. I won't be a dodger. My country needs me." He sighed, dropping his head back down. 

"But what about me, huh?  _ I _ need you! I can't pay for this place on my own!" Bucky looked up, a strange fire in his eyes. 

"Really? You're gonna tell me that? When you've fixed every damn thing in this house with money we don't have? I know what you've been doing, Jane," He stands up, crowding Steve against the door. He feels small, helpless. Bucky, his best friend, who he loved, sometimes more than he should, has eyes filled with anger. "Selling your body on the street like a- like a whore!" He slams his hand into the wall by Steve's head, and he feels his heart stop. Bucky would never hurt him. He would never- 

Suddenly, Bucky's head is on his shoulder, and Steve feels wetness against his white shirt. 

"I was supposed to take care of you. Make sure you were safe, and warm. But I failed. Because you had to start doing,  _ that _ for us to survive." He pulls back, running a hand along Steve's cheek. "I can't protect you here, I can't provide for you. But I can go over there, and every fucking Nazi whose head I put a bullet in will be to keep you safe." He sighs, placing his forehead against Steve's. 

"You do take care of me, Buck. You make me feel safe. You take care of me when I'm sick." They breathe together, close and filled with a million emotions swirling between them. "You-you make me feel loved." 

There's a beat, and Steve decides to take the chance, because war is looming and who gives a fuck. 

He kisses Bucky. 

It's a gentle thing, unpracticed and sweet. Fueled by pain and years of unsaid words. Bucky's hand falls from the wall, gentle as he grasps Steve's hip, runs careful fingers down his arms, over the material of the shirt from Stella. 

He pauses, pulling away to look at Steve, as if noticing his clothes for the first time. 

"Why the hell are you dressed like that?" 

Steve pauses, stammering, trying to come up with something to say. But Bucky fills in his own blanks. 

"God, what kinda perverts make a pretty girl like you dress like this to get off?" 

The truth is, Steve has never sold his body. Stella gave him a job at the bar, letting him serve drinks and talk to people. It payed much more than it should, but it was safe and comfortable. People called him  _ sir _ . 

_ Pretty _ . Bucky never used words like that for Steve. He knew how they irked him, even if he didn't know why. But Steve let it slide. 

As far as Bucky was concerned, his roommate and childhood friend Jane was a hooker who sometimes dressed like a man for clients. 

As much as it broke his heart, Steve didn't have the will to correct him. 

~~~

A month later, Bucky was gone. Shipped off to training. Steve said goodbye, hugged him, gave him a peck on the cheek, and left. 

That night, he didn't go to the bar. He just cried while laying in Bucky's bed until sleep claimed him. 

He dreamt of Bucky. Disjointed images, lips against his, sweet words in his ear. Closeness, and comfort. Home, and  _ love _ . 

It turned dirtier. Dream Bucky ran his soft hands over Steve's body, whispering his name.  _ His _ name. Not Jane. Steve. Spoken with awe, like he was speaking to God himself.

When dream Bucky lifted his shirt, his chest was flat. Narrow and masculine, no bandages, just sweet flatness. When Dream Bucky unbuttoned his pants, he found hardness there, running careful fingers up the shaft. 

"There you are baby boy, all hard for me." Steve shuddered at the words, his heart aching. 

"Gonna come for me handsome boy? My sweet Steve?" 

Steve wakes up crying and wetter than he's ever been in his life, turned on and hurting all at once. 

He curses his biology, his chest, his vagina. He hates it, he hates being this. 

But mostly? He hates that if he was born a man, Bucky would never kiss him. Never touch him, never see him as anything more than a friend. 

That night, when Bucky found out he was drafted, they kissed. But Bucky wouldn't go further, a fact Steve was much too happy for. He'd whispered into his ear, promised.

"When I come back, I'm going to marry you. I've loved you for so long, and when I come back we're gonna be a family." 

"What if you don't come back?" Steve had whispered, tears stinging his eyes. 

"I will. I promise. Nothing in this world will keep me from coming back for you, my sweet girl." 

And for a second, Steve had wished the words made his heart sing. But he knew, deep down, Bucky would never love Steve. He loved Jane. His childhood friend, the tomboy, the girl down the street. 

He didn't love Steve, the man who served drinks in a bar in a basement, who practiced his deep voice and felt at home with bandages around his chest. 

Unlike his dream, Bucky would never call him Baby Boy. 

But there was a choice to make. Steve, or Bucky. He couldn't have both. 

~~~

He wasn't sure how he got here, but here he was. Signing his name, well, his legal name. 

"So, you said you have basic first aid knowledge?" The nurse asked. 

"Uh, yeah, my mom was a nurse. She taught me." 

"Good, we don't have to start at the beginning then. Lessons will be two hours every day for the next two weeks, I've put you on the fast track, and more than likely you'll be shipped overseas. We can only teach you so much, the real practice comes on the battlefield." 

Steve nodded, taking the uniform he was handed. 

"Now, report to Doctor Erskine, he'll get you checked out." Steve nodded, moving down the hallway. 

He couldn't enlist, not as a soldier, at least. But he wanted to do something for his country, and this was the best he could do. 

He knocked softly on the door, and heard a muffled 'Come In.' he turned the handle and wasn't prepared for what he found. 

Abraham. A regular at the bar, he didn't talk much but Steve recognized his face immediately. His heart dropped as Erskine turned around, his own eyes widening. 

"Steve?" Steve's heart pounded harder, hearing his name outside the bar was rare. Dr. Erskine came closer, looking Steve up and down. He was wearing a sensible dress, which he despised. 

"Dear boy what are you doing in that getup?" Steve looked down, face flushing brightly. 

"Can't wear my real clothes during the day. I'd get arrested if anyone realized I wasn't a real man." 

Erskine considered him for a moment, a strange look in his eye.

"Close the door, Steven." 

Steve did as he was told, hands shaking. 

"Have a seat, boy. I think I can help. You see, there's this program-" 


	3. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up in the future, and recounts how he got from Jane to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rough as shit, I'm sick as a dog, but like, enjoy I guess? I know top surgery in the 40s is like, the opposite of realistic but Erskine is a top secret scientist okay he can figure it out. 
> 
> Again, this is super rough. Pls forgive me.

After Erskine's death, Steve vowed never to tell anyone, not a single soul alive knew. And they never would. 

When he found Bucky, he was almost afraid he'd recognize him. But he didn't, eyes bleary as he looked up.  _ Up _ at Steve. Because Steve was tall now, no breasts, even a bit of stubble on his jaw, a deeper voice. He was everything he'd ever dreamed, but in this moment, seeing the man he loved not even recognize him a little bit, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. 

"You look a lot like a friend of mine. Taller, and a man, obviously." He'd said. Steve's heart had broken.

He wanted to tell him. Wanted to kiss him like that one night forever and a moon ago, wanted to say  _ I was always a man _ . Or  _ I'm here, Bucky, I came to save you. _

But that wasn't an option. It couldn't be. 

So he gave up. Bucky would never love him like this, he'd be disgusted and angry, and Steve didn't want him to make a scene and blow his cover. But he'd discover eventually, when he returned home to find Jane Rogers didn't even exist anymore, his childhood friend gone, not even a birth certificate in her place. 

Funny enough, Bucky never went home, and Steve was guilty that it made him feel relieved. 

So, with that, everyone that cared about Jane Rogers was gone. And Steve Rogers was alone. 

He tried to fill in the gaps with Peggy, but he knew they could never be intimate. She couldn't know. No one could. He'd be arrested, maybe even put to death. He hadn't just lied on his enlistment form, he lied about his entire identity. 

He dreamed of Bucky, sometimes, and he always woke up crying. He'd never see him again, never be his, not in any capacity, man or woman. Bucky never even knew just how close the friend he spoke of so fondly was. 

"She's amazing, Steve. Seriously. We grew up together, and when I get back? I'm gonna make her my girl, shoulda done it a long time ago." Steve had had to excuse himself to cry. 

  
  


So, as he flew into the ice, he almost felt happy for it. He would die a man, a hero's death. 

He would die Steve Rogers, a legend, a hero, no one ever knowing Jane Rogers had even existed. 

He would die a man. 

~~

But, of course, he wasn't so lucky. 

When he woke up, ran around New York a bit, you know the story, he felt impending dread. There was no way the recovery and medical team didn't know. They had to. He was exposed. 

When he finally calmed down, Fury took him back to the fake hospital room, all to reminiscent of the ones he'd spent too much time in as a child. He closed the door, motioning for Steve to sit down. 

"You know, don't you?" Steve asked, looking down at his lap. Fury eyed him. 

"Know what? That you're a man who saved the world?" Steve scoffed, not looking up. 

"That I'm not a man at all." 

"I know we only met a half hour ago, but frankly Steven, that is  _ bull _ shit. Who gives a shit what's between your legs boy? Times have changed." Steve looked up.

"Changed?" 

"Yeah, Steve. I don't think they had a word for it the last time you were awake but here? In the 21st century? You're what's called Transgender. A man, trapped in the body of a woman, but a man nonetheless." 

Steve paused to take it all in. 

In the 40s, people like him could be arrested. All they had were underground bars and late night alleyways. 

But here? Was it something that was okay here? Could he walk without fear? Live as himself without consequence? 

"Listen, Cap. Only about 3 people in Shield know. Me, and two doctors. That's it. And it's gonna stay that way. I ain't gonna out you, and if they do they'll never be heard from again. I am curious though, how'd you get past the physicals? They were pretty invasive." 

Steve sighed, leaning back. "A friend helped me out…" 

~~

"This is crazy." Steve said, even as Erskine explained it to him. The man was sipping his tea while Steve sat across from him. 

"Not particularly. Records can be altered, people can be bought. Surgeries can he performed." 

"But. The Military will never agree to this." Steve said, thinking about what would happen if he was found out. Erskine chuckled. 

"They don't have to. I've got lots of friends in records. They can wipe every trace of Jane Rogers, and leave Steve Rogers in her place. I'll perform all your physicals myself. And I have a good friend who can take care of your little problem." Erskine gestured vaguely to Steve's chest. He felt his heart swell. 

"You're-you're not messin with me right? Please tell me this isn't a prank. Why would you even do this for me?" 

"It's not a prank, dear boy. The truth is, female biology is more receptive to the serum than male biology, but the military refuses to use it on women. Patriarchy and all that. So, we erase Jane Rogers, and leave you in her place. You'll be able to live like a man, and I'll be able to have successfully engineered a super soldier. Besides, people like you and people like me gotta stick together. I like men, and I could lose my entire career for it. You  _ are _ a man, and you're just as at risk." He sighed, looking down at his hands. "Who else do we have, if not each other?" He looked back up at Steve for a long moment before extending his hand. 

"What do you say, dear boy?" Steve eyed the hand for a moment, worst case scenarios running through his head like wildfire, before extending his own and grabbing Erskine's roughly. 

"I say hell yes." 

~~~

"I knew it!" Fury yelled, leaping up. "I  _ knew _ Erskine was gay! But noooo, we can't put modern lenses over the past. Bull _ shit! _ " He smiled wildly before catching Steve's eye, watching him warily. He cleared his throat and sat back down. "So, uh, what happened then?" 

~~~

Steve woke up, eyes heavy and chest sore. 

"Good morning Steven." Erskine said softly. 

"Is...is it over?" Steve asked, looking down to his bandaged chest. 

"Yes, we've got to let you heal for a bit, but once you're fully recovered we'll perform the procedure to conceal your scars. Jane Rogers has already been erased, and all that's left is to get you into the military." 

Two weeks later, thanks to Steve's less than stellar healing time, the bandages were removed. Erskine insisted that he not see the result until the experimental procedure to conceal the scars was complete. Something about skin reconstruction, things Steve didn't understand. 

He cried. Like a baby. When he saw the mirror, his breasts gone, not a trace they were ever there, he cried. He sobbed like a child at his slim narrow chest. Now he just looked like a particularly small man. But a man. It was something he had been waiting for for much too long. He broke down, sobbing with happiness at what he saw. Him. He saw  _ him _ . 

It was reminiscent of that first night at Stella's bar, seeing himself in a way he never had before. Erskine just smiled, lacing an arm around his shoulder. 

"And now, dear boy, we get to work." 

~~

"And you know the story from there. The program, the serum. All that's pretty straightforward." 

"What about Bucky? He didn't recognize you?" 

Steve looked down, swallowing around the lump in his throat and shaking his head.  _ Taller, and a man, obviously _ . Words that had cut him to his core. 

"Okay. That's enough, I'm sorry I pushed you. Get some rest." 

~~

Steve was happy to live in this new century, as hard as it was to navigate. He read about Stonewall, about how far rights for people like him had come. They even had a name. LGBTQ+. In the 40s it had just been 'queer' or 'freaks of nature' or 'sinner.' 

He decided not to tell the other Avengers. They didn't need to know. It didn't effect his ability to do his job, so what did it matter? 

He was happy, and everything was going great. 

Well. For a while. 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" 

And hell broke loose. 

  
  



	4. The Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of civil war, Steve invites Bucky to live in his house. Shit gets intense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm churning this shit out like a fucking factory man I've never been this excited to continue a project. That said, this is super rough. Oh well. 
> 
> Things get intense here. Sorry not sorry

The next few months were chaos unhinged. 

  


But, when Bucky was finally  _ Bucky _ again, memories restored, he started asking questions. 

  


Steve, ever self destructive, had let him stay in his apartment in Brooklyn. The Avengers Tower was no longer his home, not after everything that happened. 

  


It was oddly reminiscent of when they used to live together, not really living together so much as existing in the same space. Where Steve saw his best friend, the man he grew up with, all Bucky saw was an old war buddy he only knew for a few weeks. 

  


Steve tried to avoid him, constantly cursing himself for making this decision. 

  


After a month, they settled into a steady rhythm. Bucky never really talked to Steve, and vice versa. Nor did either mention when they woke up to the other screaming at night.

  


It was going oddly well, of course, until it wasn't.

  


It was a Sunday morning, and Steve was idly doodling his coffee mug when he felt a presence behind him, watching his pencil move over the page. 

  


"Ya know, my girl used to draw. Well. I say 'my girl'. She was never really mine." He vaulted over the back of the couch to sit by Steve, settling in and looking over with those damn eyes that Steve had pages full of. Not that he'd ever admit it. "That girl I told you about way back when, Jane. Remember?" 

  


He did. He remembered late nights in tents, Bucky talking about how he was gonna go home and marry her, have a few kids, live a good life and leave the war behind. 

  


He also remembered having to excuse himself from those conversations to cry or hit something. 

  


Steve didn't answer, trying desperately to focus on his drawing and not on his best friend, who didn't even know they were best friends. They sat like that for a few minutes. 

  


"I tried to look her up, ya know, see if she's still alive, but I can't find anything, it's like she doesn't even exist." 

  


Steve's grip on his pencil tightened and his jaw clenched as he made a particularly heavy line. Why did he think this was a good idea? To let Bucky live in his house? Why did he let himself be so close to something he could never have? It was already driving him insane. He opted not to say anything, not sure he could keep his voice from quivering on whatever words he could find. 

  


There was silence for another few minutes.

  


"Maybe you could help? You've been in this century longer than me, maybe you can figure out how to find her, even if she's old and wrinkly, I want her to know I'm okay. I'm alive. I came back, just like I said I would." 

  


_ Snap _ . 

  


The pencil splintered, wood shards flying in every direction as it was snapped by super soldier fingers. Steve stood up abruptly, throwing his sketchbook to the ground a bit harder than he needed to, a strange sadness in his eyes as he fixed them on Bucky 

  


"You won't find her, give up." And he stormed away. 

~~

Bucky was confused. Steve had stood up, almost angry, like Bucky had said something to offend the man.

  


_ You won't find her _ ? Like he could know. 

  


Did he know something? He said he was from Brooklyn too, maybe he had met Jane when Bucky was gone? 

  


Or maybe it wasn't that deep, maybe he lost someone too, someone he couldn't find. Maybe this was just reopening the wound. Bucky sighed, reaching to the floor to grab the sketchbook, intending to return it to the other man as a peace offering. 

  


As he picked it up though, a little golden shape fell out from between the pages. Bucky picked it up and turned it in his hands curiously. It was a small cross on a golden chain, the initials JR and BB carved into the back. 

  


Bucky's blood boiled.

~~

There was banging on Steve's bedroom door, angry and insistent. 

  


"Open the door you son of a bitch!" Steve looked up from his pillow, confused at the anger in Bucky's voice. 

  


"Go away!" He said, slumping against the side of the bed and burying his face in his pillow again. He couldn't do this right now, maybe ever. 

  


"I said open this  _ fucking door _ ." Bucky screamed, almost feral. 

  


A sturdy blow with a metal fist sent the door flying off of its hinges, slamming into the wall, which cracked as the splintered wood settled to the ground. Steve bolted up from his place on the floor in alarm. 

  


"What the hell man?!" 

  


Steve barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Bucky had crossed the room and grabbed his throat with his flesh hand, brandishing a small golden necklace with his metal one. 

  


"Where the fuck did you get this? Huh?!" 

~~

"I just. I wish you wouldn't go." Steve said, looking down at his dress. He'd decided to wear nice clothes to see Bucky off, as much as he hated them. 

  


"I'm not going anywhere. I'm always with you." He sighed, reaching into his pockets. He withdrew a shiny golden chain, presenting it to Steve. 

  


"Whenever you get lonely, just touch this, trace your fingers over the initials, and remember I'm always with you." 

~~

"You…" Steve choked out, feeling Bucky's grip on his throat tighten just a fraction, tears stinging at his eyes. "You gave it to me." 

  


Bucky's grip slackened, but only for a moment, before that bruising pressure was back again, not enough to cut his air off, but enough that every breath felt like a struggle. 

  


"I gave this to Jane Rogers! You aren't Jane Rogers! What happened to her?! Why do you have this?!" 

  


Steve lost it. 

  


He started crying, slumping in Bucky's hold, 70 years of guilt and self hatred flooding to the surface all at once. 

  


Startled at this grown man crying, Bucky let go. Steve crumpled to the ground, making himself as small as he could as he sobbed. 

  


"Go! Get out! She's fucking gone!" Steve yelled, burying his face in his pillow, muffled cries of  _ she's gone _ , and  _ go _ , and  _ I'm sorry _ repeating over and over and over again. 

  


And, not knowing what else to do, Bucky obeyed, and left, the necklace still clenched tightly in his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges flying fruit*


	5. The Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, angry and confused, doesn't stop trying to find Jane. But instead, he finds someone else, who gives him a clarity he had no idea he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of feels here. I'm not sure if this should be the end or not. It seems like a good place, but I have some other places I could take it. Idk, do you guys want this to be the end, or do you want more? Or maybe I could make another fic about how they navigate this after (that would probably include smut. Lots of it.) Idk, let me know.

Bucky doesn't stop trying. 

He tries every web server, every archive, hell, he even goes to the Brooklyn Records Office. But Jane Rogers is nowhere to be found. 

The thing is, Steve knows something. He has to.

So, he abandons his search for Jane, and starts researching Steve instead. 

He always kinda assumed their last name being the same was a coincidence, it wasn't that uncommon. But maybe they were cousins? Unlikely, given that Jane had never mentioned any family beyond her mother. 

"No, no, that can't be right." 

He found Steve's birth certificate in the public records on the library computer. 

Born: July 4th, 1918

Mother: Sarah Rogers

Father: Joseph Rogers 

_ What the fuck? _

That was Jane's birthday. Jane's  _ parents _ . Did Jane have a twin? It would explain their eerie resemblance, but how could Bucky not know? 

He read the document again, again. What the fuck? Had Hydra fucked with his memory somehow? 

But no, of course they didn't. Because Bucky had a  _ picture _ of Jane. From when they were young, her hair in a bob at her shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she smiled at the camera. He kept that damn picture with him wherever he went, even Hydra hadn't been able to take it from him. Jane was real, but where had she gone? 

"You look like you've seen a ghost, buddy."

Bucky turned around seeing a young man, well groomed, looking at him, a pile of books in hand. 

"Uh. Yeah." He sighed, looking at Jane's picture.

The man's eyes fell on the photo in Bucky's hand. 

"Hey! I know that guy!" The man exclaimed. Guy? But Bucky brushed it off as a slip of the tongue. He knew Jane. 

"Really? From where?!" He said, whirling in his seat to stare the man down. The guy shifted his books to one hand, then reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, withdrawing a little black and white photo, obviously aged. He handed it over to Bucky. 

"My Grandma Stella, she used to run a Safe Haven Bar for LGBTQ+ folks in the 40s, she was Trans herself." 

Bucky studied the photo. In it, were a woman and two men. The woman towered over the other two, her long hair framing her square jaw as she laughed, flat chest caught mid-heave. She had an arm thrown around a dark haired man on her left, who was mid-laugh, mouth open and eyes sparkling. Her other hand was around the man on her right, he was short, with short light-colored hair and a soft face, a small smile on his lips as he watched his two friends laughing hysterically about something. 

Except, the man on the right was Jane. Dressed in men's clothes, her chest oddly flat. Bucky remembered the night she'd come home dressed similarly, and he'd been too distracted to really put much thought into it. 

He flipped the photo over, and everything clicked startlingly into place. 

There, written in neat handwriting, were the words  _ Stella, Max, and Steve, The Underground, December 8th, 1939 _

Bucky stared at the writing.

_ Steve _ .

His flesh hand was shaking. He looked up at the man. 

"Where did you get this?" 

"Like I told you, my Grandma Stella. Her and my Grandpa Max were both transgender, and LGBT rights activists. That guy, Steve? He was a bartender there. Stella told me he came in one night looking to sell his body, but she helped him find his way. He worked with her until he became a nurse in the military. She never heard from him after that." 

Bucky gave the picture back, and started to research. 

Hours later, he understood. He understood so much. He'd come across words like  _ gender dysphoria _ and  _ transmasculine _ . He researched until his head was about to pop. 

So, Jane wasn't gone. She was Steve. Jane was trans.

He felt stupid for not seeing it, the way she cringed when she heard her name, the way he heard her crying from the bathroom. 

But there were no words for it then. No medical studies and rights groups. Nothing. 

Then, came the anger. 

Steve had been there, right alongside him, for weeks. Listening to him talk about Jane, the woman he loved, and said nothing. What was he afraid of? Bucky wouldn't have cast him out or hated him. He still would have loved him, because he loved the person he grew up with, not the body he inhabited. 

Sure, it would have been hard. But they could have done it. Quietly, in the shadows, he could and would have loved Steve as much as he loved Jane. More, even. Because when he loved Jane, he loved a lie, a woman who didn't really exist. Loving Jane was loving a mirage, a mask. Loving Steve would have been loving a person, a man, someone who was brave and true. 

Bucky would have never admitted it, not back then, not to anyone, but he liked men too. He loved women, soft and small and easy to hold. But he loved men too, hard and strong and admirable. 

This line of thought hit him like a brick. 

Because he never told Steve about that. Because he was afraid he'd look at him differently, see him as less of a man, a disgusting thing. Even his best friend couldn't know. 

It was the same for Steve wasn't it? They were each hiding themselves because they were scared of losing the other. He knows now that Steve wouldn't have loved him less, but he couldn't have known that then, and neither could Steve. 

His anger waned, and he thumped his head against the library desk, curling his arms around him. 

What idiots they were. 

But he was gonna fix that. Now. 

~~

It's been two weeks since Bucky stormed out. Steve's looked for him, but he's nowhere to be found. Not surprising, given that he's trained to disappear. 

But Steve is worried. The man has no money, no place to go. He could be dead in an alleyway and Steve would have no way of knowing. 

So, he draws. 

He draws Bucky. His eyes, his mouth, his arm. He draws him, over and over, and he cries. 

Bucky thinks he knows where Jane is. And, to be frank, he does. But he's got no idea. He probably thinks Steve killed her, or she died and Steve didn't tell Bucky. 

Bucky probably thinks Steve is a monster. 

It's during one of these drawing sessions, when he's so caught up on his own head, that the door opens, suddenly and violently. 

He looks up, startled, to see Bucky in the doorway, his key in his flesh hand, his chest heaving like he just ran a few miles. 

"Bu-" 

He doesn't have time before Bucky slams the door and crosses the living room, grabbing Steve's sketchbook and throwing it aside, climbing into Steve's lap and grabbing his head. 

Steve blanks. Bucky is kissing him. Angry and violent and desperate all at once, searching for something, even though Steve isn't sure what exactly that is. 

His brain catches up and he plants two hands on Bucky's chest, pushing him with all his might. 

The super soldier sprawls across the floor, looking up at Steve. 

"What the hell man?!" Steve yells. Bucky doesn't move, just looks up. 

"I know, Steve." 

Steve's heart stops. He knows? Knows what? Steve can't jump to conclusions here. He can't know. How could he? No one did, except for Fury, and he wouldn't say anything. 

"Know what?" He manages, willing his heart to stop beating from his chest. 

"You know what I mean, Steve. I know. I know where Jane is. And I know she never really existed." 

Steve's breath comes out of his body with a  _ whoosh _ , a gasp, a sound of horror and relief all at once. 

"You-" 

Bucky stands up, crowding Steve on the couch, his metal hand on the arm and his flesh one on the cushion by Steve's head. 

"Yeah, Steve. I know." His voice is soft, his eyes even softer, no anger or resentment in them. 

"I ran into Stella's grandson. He recognized a picture of you, and showed me one of his own. You, and Stella, and Max. You looked happier than I've ever seen you." 

Steve's breath is coming fast and hard, his eyes wide and his thoughts racing. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I'm sorry I-" 

He's cut off, soft lips against his, gentle this time. He pulls away, looking deep into Steve's soul. 

"I came back, my love. I came back to you. Just like I promised, and I'm not going anywhere." 


	6. What's to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peak of the next installment in this series. I've decided to leave this fic as it is, and make a few works in the series. Here's a look at what's to come.

Steve took a deep breath. 

"This could ruin me." 

"Steve, honey. People have been using you to push their agenda, their all-american, right wing, xenophobic, homophobic, and transphobic ideas. People look up to you, children look up to you. This may ruin your reputation in those circles, but it will not ruin you." Steve sighed, looking at the camera, straightening his tie. As always, Nat was right.

"Okay. Turn it on." He took a deep breath as his friend hit record. 

He looked into the camera, taking another deep breath. 

"Hello, everyone. I don't know just how many people this is going to get to, I still don't know how this whole internet thing works. But, I've heard a lot of stuff lately." He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands, then back at the camera.

"I grew up in the early 20th century, most of you know my story. Or, you think you do. You think you know that I grew up in a conservative time, as a perfect poster boy for the American values of the time. But today, I'm setting the record straight.

My name is Steven Rogers, I grew up in Brooklyn. My parents were Irish immigrants. My father fought in world war one, where he lost his life, and my mother, a nurse, died of tuberculosis. I am the child of two immigrants. I am the child of a man who gave his life for his country, and a woman who gave hers for others." He wrung his hands. This was the easy part. The next one was gonna be harder. 

"I'm not homophobic, and I resent being used as a symbol to justify those ideas. I grew up in a neighborhood filled with LGBTQ+ individuals and immigrants. And I'm not transphobic either. In fact-" he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing himself to stop shaking. "My name is Steven Rogers, but it wasn't always. I was born a woman. My name is Steve Rogers, and I am a transgender man." 


End file.
